


Roots

by Clementive



Series: Flowers Over Neighbours [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Flowers, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, House-sitting, Meet-Ugly, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship, mention of Shikamaru Nara/Temari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clementive/pseuds/Clementive
Summary: When Gaara agreed to housesit for his sister, he never imagined the loudmouth next-door neighbour would completely derail his life one cup of sugar at a time.
Relationships: Gaara/Haruno Sakura
Series: Flowers Over Neighbours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729939
Comments: 28
Kudos: 100





	Roots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theformerone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theformerone/gifts).



> I wanted something full of hope and found love and... full of the terrors of adulting. Here we are. 
> 
> This was written for the V-day gift exchange on the GaaSaku discord. This is for theformerone. Hope you like it! :D

' _Home, sweet home_ ,' Sakura thought, singsong, as she fought with her keys stuck in the lock, her backpack and bags beating at her legs and arms. She shoved and pulled impatiently, the phone still pressed to her ear. She groaned. Her bags fell to the floor.

'Come on, come on, come on!' she shrieked inwardly.

The empty house echoed the dull sound of her wallet and hospital keys and cards thudding on the floor tenfold.

"Are you listening?" Ino shrilled in her ear.

Sakura grimaced, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her arm before trying the key again.

"Yes," Sakura answered through clenched teeth just as the key was finally pulled free.

She sighed loudly and closed the door behind her. She walked between her moving boxes, dropping her bags next to the couch still surrounded by plastic. It creaked, her heels thundered, the emptiness of her house overwhelming.

"You don't have the cake, do you?" Ino said flatly, and Sakura grimaced again, picturing, in her mind's eye, her friend's narrowed eyes and flashing teeth.

"I'm on it," Sakura replied calmly and kept randomly opening the moving boxes in the kitchen to find mixing bowls and ingredients. "It's just the hospital-"

"Oh, that's just great," Ino replied sarcastically. "Your job, again. What a surprise. You think you're the only one working, Forehead girl? Wanna say that to Hinata? The woman is ready to pop, and you can't even bake the cake for the baby shower. Where's your solidarity for "labouring" women, huh?"

Sakura lowered her cellphone to the counter, as Ino rambled louder and louder.

Swiftly, Sakura preheated the oven, chewing on her lip. ' _Eggs, flour, baking powder..._ ,' she reviewed mentally.

"Are you listening?" Ino yelled, and Sakura scrambled to pick the phone up again.

"Listen, you pig!" she shouted with her own temper rising. "There _will_ be a cake, so there's no need for you to shout at me."

Ino clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"How can someone with your brains be this last minute?"

"I'm trying my best and-"

"It feels like we can't be your priority, and it sucks."

The flatness of her friend's voice chilled her. Her insides twisted, painfully, steadily. She already knew.

She looked around at her empty house full of unmounted furniture and unpacked boxes.

'It's not like that,' she wished she could reply, but she didn't know what 'it' was. She didn't know why her thoughts sway and recoil at the notion of unpacking, settling down.

'What was she waiting for?' _Something to take roots_. 'But what?' she sought it, desperately, across the peaceful houses and the stillness of the night. She bought her house because she thought she needed a clean slate to build something. Build herself. Outside the hospital. Outside all she had known for the past years.

She was a doctor, like she always wanted, but she had planted nothing. She was rootless, groundless.

She closed her eyes, collecting herself.

"Ino..." Sakura tried miserably, but she sounded weak and tired and lonely.

"Do I need to buy a cake a grocery store?" Ino asked coolly.

Sakura licked her lips, reviewing the ingredients she did have. ' _Sugar_ ,' she thought and halted, her hand whitening, tightening on the edge of her crowded kitchen counter. She was missing sugar.

"Well?" Ino prompted, and Sakura could tell she was trying not to scream and cry.

They had grown up with each other, and even that, now, wasn't enough. Hinata was pregnant, married for years now. Ino was getting married this spring. Tenten regularly moved on to other countries, following a thread of buried treasures and mysterious sarcophaguses.

She alone seemed to be missing something.

"I told you I'm on it," Sakura replied evenly.

"The cake can't be late," Ino said more softly.

"I won't be late."

Ino hung up with a scoff.

Sakura cursed softly, slapping her forehead every once in a while as she turned the moving boxes in the kitchen upside down. She should have said, 'yes, please get the cake', but the thought of disappointing her friends and her pride wouldn't let her.

Sakura cursed again, looking around her, panting softly.

She noticed the keys of her neighbour who was out of town for her honeymoon.

"Let's hope, you bake, Temari," Sakura muttered and grabbed the keys.

She walked out of her house, stepping on the 'home, sweet home' doormat. She didn't whisper the words to herself now.

On the sidewalk, Sakura couldn't help but look around her, feeling subconscious. The neighbourhood gleamed with clean chalky sidewalks and structured hedges and beautiful grass. Everything was still, peaceful, the birds only briefly chirping. It was the perfect suburbs, and yet, Sakura hadn't unpacked her boxes in the month she had been there. Out of the hospital, she felt out-of-place. _Home, sweet home_.

As she reached her neighbour's front door, Sakura looked over her shoulder one last time, holding her empty measuring cup over her chest. ' _I'm not a thief_ ,' she chastised herself. She reached forward and unlocked the door.

Temari and Shikamaru's house was eclectic and bold, with thick elaborate rugs from Temari's home town and mismatched furniture. Sakura held her breath. She envied how Temari and Shikamaru's style bled on one another, careless, seamlessly, unable to uproot one another. 'Deep roots,' she thought. This home had deep roots.

Next to the bookcase in the living room, the head a deer hung, and Sakura couldn't help, but stare in its empty eyes for a moment, before moving quickly to the kitchen.

"Where's your sugar?" Sakura chanted quietly to herself opening cupboard after cupboard. "Ah," she exclaimed when she found it. She pulled the pot off the shelf and settled it on the counter. She filled her cup careful not to spill anything on the floor or counter.

"I'll bring you a cup back," Sakura silently vowed before closing the door of the pantry.

She stilled, frowning.

There was a constant tapping sound, a soft rustle. Her hands trembled, then tightened around the cup of sugar. The shower. Someone was in the shower.

Her heartbeat quickening, Sakura wildly looked around her for a weapon of some sort. Paling, she lowered the cup of sugar back to the counter and her hand closed around a spatula first, then around a rolling pin.

As quietly as she could muster, Sakura moved toward the hallway, the sound of the shower growing more distinct.

Then, the sound stopped.

Sakura braced herself, holding her improvised weapon in from of her. Bile flooded her mouth.

'Oh god, oh god, _oh god_ ,' her mind rambled as she heard the door of the bathroom open. The floor creaked softly, wet skin slapping it.

Her heart burst in her chest.

Shouting out, Sakura hit the intruder with the rolling pin, shutting her eyes. Someone groaned, deep, guttural.

"What the-?"

He tried to pry the rolling pin out of her hands, but she resisted digging her heels in the floor.

"Get out!" she shouted and opened her eyes.

A red-haired man was glaring at her, holding his towel with one hand, while his other hand was closed around the rolling pin. The muscles of his neck and arms were corded. She panted, suddenly unable to shout anymore. Love. This man had love tattooed on his forehead.

His pale fingers released one by one the rolling pin and Sakura staggered back. She yelped.

"Who are you?" His face darkened, cutting, pale, almost translucent eyes widened in a mix of shock and anger.

Sakura tried not to look down at his half-exposed crotch. The rolling pin rolled on the floor.

"Answer me," he snapped and readjusted the towel.

Sakura swiftly bent down to retrieve the rolling pin and pointed it at him. It shook.

"Never mind who I am! How did you break in here?" Sakura shouted back.

"I didn't break in. You did," he hissed icily and pointed at the door. "Get out."

"I've a key!" Sakura protested faintly and took a step back as he approached her.

"So, do I."

"Who are you?"

The man tilted his head to the side, his nostrils still flaring, as if appraising her.

"That's it, I'm calling the cops," he said bluntly.

Involuntarily, Sakura hit his hand reaching for the home phone with the rolling pin. He froze, the muscles of his shoulders and arms working as if he was restraining himself. Slowly, he turned back toward her.

At that moment, Sakura noticed one picture of the wall. Temari was in her wedding dress, laughing broadly, surrounded by two men, and an old woman. The red-haired man in front of her and a man with deep brown hair.

"Oh... You're in that picture."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"This is my sister's house. I'm house-sitting."

"Well, I just came for the sugar, so there's no need for the cops." Sakura pointed to the cup on the counter and quickly grabbed it. She raised it as if in a cheer. "Cup, no cops. See yah!"

Sakura threw the rolling pin on the floor when she reached the door. Before he could protest, she slammed the door behind her and sprinted toward her house.

 _Home, sweet home_ , the porch welcomed her again.

* * *

Before 5 am, Gaara started his jogging like every morning in greyish dawn.

After yesterday's incident, Gaara needed his routine to fall back on. He needed his work, his carefully laid out plans, his lists of tasks, and his coffee. Even if this was meant to be his vacations, and he had promised his sister he would look after the house, and ' _nothing else_ '.

Gaara scowled and turned on the next intersection. There was guilt when he did nothing else. Wasn't he meant to work? There was crushing, frightening loneliness when he allowed himself to be distracted from work.

Gaara still resented that Temari still treated him like a child, like he still needed to be protected from himself.

'Your work is destructive and unhealthy,' she often shouted.

'Take a vacation.'

'Go out with friends.'

'You've done enough for others! What about you?'

Gaara turned again, sweat gliding down his brow. He groaned, increasing his pace, increasing the volume of his music.

'What about me?' the thought snaked between his defences, harassing and cold steel. There was nothing about him.

Gaara slowed after thirty minutes, hands on his hips as he surveyed his surroundings. His watch beeped as if on cue.

He was in front of the mad woman's house.

Gaara scowled, but before he could turn away, he caught a glimpse of the moving boxes through the window. There were no curtains. The couch still had its plastic wraps around it. The kitchen, farther away seemed as empty.

Gaara cocked his head to the side, then shook his head, laughing silently to himself.

What a mad woman.

Even her garden was empty. How could anyone live like that?

* * *

Three days later, Sakura held the cup of sugar in front of her in a protective gesture. Again. She stood unable to move, the hot air stiffening around her. Again. The chants of crickets and birds buzzed against her skin, and she still wouldn't move. Press the doorbell. Apologize. Finally.

Dread and shame twisted her insides, and she turned to leave. Again.

She yelped in surprise almost dropping the cup over the porch.

The red haired man was there, watching her with his unsettling eyes, holding bags of grocery. His head was cocked to the side, his face impassive, but the corner of his mouth twitched with displeasure.

"Oh, hi," Sakura said nervously, and almost spilled the sugar on the porch when she tried to wave.

She grimaced, her face burning, her body tingling.

The corner of his mouth twitched again.

"About to let yourself in, again?"

"Oh, no-no, I'm just returning the sugar I borrowed," Sakura bowed her head formally, and held up the cup of sugar to him.

"Hn."

He skirted around her to unlock the door, ignoring the cup of sugar.

"I'm also sorry about the whole... ninja with the rolling pin thing," Sakura laughed nervously.

He stared at her.

"Really sorry," she added when he didn't reply or move.

"Hn."

She gritted her teeth, her blush spreading to her neck.

"I'm Haruno Sakura," she addressed him formally and bowed. "Could we just start over?"

He slowly reached up, as if not to frighten her, and finally took the cup out of her hands. Sakura's shoulders sank with relief.

"No," he said flatly and stepped into the house without bothering to close the door behind him.

Sakura gawked at him. Her fists clenched by her sides.

"I'm not leaving this porch until you accept my apology."

"Hn," he glanced back at her, shadows spreading across his face. His eyes gleamed in the soft darkness of the house. With amusement or mischief. She stopped herself from stepping in the house to give him a piece of her mind.

"Look," she snapped angrily. "I'm just trying to do the right thing, so why don't you stop being such a jerk and say: "I accept your apology"."

He glanced down at her foot nudging and stilling over the doormat.

"Are you like a vampire? Do I have to formally invite you in?"

Sakura blinked and quickly stepped in the living room.

Slowly, he put his the grocery away, then took out the pot of sugar out of the pantry. Roughly, he opened it and emptied the content of Sakura's measuring cup in it. He slid it across the counter toward her.

"I thought you'd like your cup back," he said dully.

"Thank you," she said stiffly and bowed.

"Gaara."

She risked a glance at his face, half-turned back toward the door.

"My name is Gaara," his expression changed slowly as he smirked. "Not jerk."

Her glance stopped on the tattoo of his forehead. _Love_. _Home, sweet home_.

She felt herself nod mechanically, her hands clasped painfully around her measuring cup.

"Nice to meet you, Gaara."

* * *

The next morning, Gaara opened his door to start his jogging.

He frowned, glancing down at the cake and a note folded in four.

Groaning, Gaara picked up the note and unfolded it. " _I apologize again... Here's a cake I made with my own sugar._ "

Gaara raised a brow, the corner of his lips quirked up. She had underlined "own" three times. He wondered if she had unpacked some of her boxes to bake the cake. He wondered what kind of woman could derail his schedule one cup of sugar at the time.

'One with an empty garden,' Gaara thought.

He shook his head.

His watch beeped.

He set the plate on the table near the door and closed it.

Gaara started running.

Later when he completed the loop in 30 minutes back to his sister's house, he glanced at Sakura's house. Flowers. She definitely needed flowers.

* * *

At night, Sakura stared at the ceiling fan, her arm across her face. She was exhausted, but she couldn't sleep. There was a nudging, rattling sound that pulled her in and out of slumber. She turned on her side. The wind, she tried to convince herself. She shut her eyes.

It crawled back, turned into a rustle that was too inconstant to be the wind. The sound grew duller, blunter, like steel hitting rocks.

Her eyes snapped opened.

Sakura sat up in bed, pressing the bed sheets to her heaving chest.

In the darkness, she scrambled for the baseball bat she kept by the door. She hissed when her hand hit it and it rolled away from her.

Sitting on her heels, she listened. The sound was softer now, but she was convinced there was someone moving in her backyard.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage, wild and deafening.

Trembling, her hand closed around the baseball bat and Sakura slowly stood up. Ino had told her not to use this room as her bedroom. "A peeping Tom can see you, Forehead girl! Nevermind the view!"

As silently as she could muster, Sakura eased the patio door opened. Half-hidden by the blinds, she searched her backyard. The sound was louder now.

She choked on thickening saliva, her hold tightening around the base of her baseball bat. It was coming from her left. From Temari's house.

Sakura gulped, her foot on the patio.

"Gaara?" She whispered meekly.

The sound stilled. Then, his head appeared above the hedge between her house and his sister's. He glanced at the baseball bat.

She lowered it, flooded with relief. The tip grazed the patio.

"Were you going to attack me again?" he inclined his head toward the baseball bat.

"What are you doing?" Sakura countered, a hand pressed to her chest. "You scared the life out of me."

"Gardening," Gaara answered curtly, and turned away from the hedge.

She moved to stand on the tip of her toes, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of him.

"At this hour?" she asked incredulous.

"I'm an insomniac," came the reply from farther away.

She heard him rummaged around tools. She finally smelled the freshly cut grass and the rich scent of moist earth.

"Well, keep it down," she said.

"I thought I was," he said and reappeared at his previous location.

His eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness, his angular face more pronounced in the shrouded shadows.

She opened her mouth, but it was suddenly dry. She shook her head.

"Good night, Gaara."

She turned to leave, but his clipped voice stopped her: "Here."

He reached over the hedge, holding out a bouquet. She drew closer until she could see pale flowers tangled with strands and other smaller flowers. Their gazes locked.

"You offered me cake," Gaara said and he thrust the flowers closer to her. "My sister yelled at me for one hour because you're her favourite neighbour. She said I should have let you take all the sugar you needed. Now, take the flowers."

"You told her everything," Sakura squeaked and turned her head away in embarrassment.

"Not everything," Gaara said quietly with a smirk. "Take the flowers. Please," he added more softly.

"Thank you."

Sakura started walking back, then stopped, her heart beating wildly. Maybe she was still frightened. Maybe she had every reason to be frightened, with this man and his soft coolness and implacable eyes.

"How did you know I would come out here?"

"You can't resist messing up my plans." Gaara shrugged faintly. "And you have a thing for waving blunt objects at me."

Sakura's lip curled up, hesitant and slow.

"Do you need help?"

He cocked his head to the side watching her. She held her breath, wishing she could hold her heart with the same ease, the same strength. Quiet control.

"Another time perhaps," Gaara said softly.

Sakura nodded, smiling at him tiredly.

"I should get going," she gestured toward her house and walked back toward the patio.

"Goodnight, Sakura."

"I'll bring you another soon," he said louder when her hand closed around the door handle.

Surprised, Sakura looked at him over her shoulder, fighting a smile, fighting a blush. Fighting herself. The flowers in her hand were still damp. Gaara had already cut the base of their stems.

A vase. 'They needed a vase to blossom,' she couldn't help but think.

"There's no need, really," she replied, transfixed, as always, by the intensity of his gaze.

"Then, we'll have supper."

"Are you trying to ask me out?" Sakura laughed gingerly, shaking her head.

It became all tangled, the scent of the earth, the vase, the cut-off stems. And him. And him. More flowers. Seeds and roots.

"Tomorrow 7, works?" Gaara continued unabashed, but she could swear he was blushing.

"Yes," Sakura smiled. "It works perfectly."

* * *

Gaara started his jogging later than he planned to.

He ran the other way, passing in front of her house first. He held his breath. The fresh flowers were in a vase by the window, between two moving boxes. The plastic over the couch was gone.

'Home, sweet home,' he read on her doormat.

Something was taking roots.


End file.
